


Given In Kind

by fauxpromises



Series: A Madness Most Discreet [6]
Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Dad Spy, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Late Night Conversations, Mild Angst, Mild Hurt/Comfort, MvM Setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2019-02-01 17:48:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12709878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fauxpromises/pseuds/fauxpromises
Summary: He turned to go, but a strong grip seized his arm before he could do so. Startled, he met his father’s blue gaze as he spun to face him. The Spy was just a touch taller than him, but the sternness that had returned to his entire being gave the Scout a visceral sense of vulnerability in the face of this man who was—in the end—the most dangerous among all of them.





	Given In Kind

The sound that stirred him to attention wasn’t quite a sound—rather, the impression of a presence passing by him. Unheard, but not undetected. It brought him at once from that state of not-quite-asleep, where he couldn’t determine if he had imagined the sensation, and he dragged his legs over the side of the bunk with a vague intention to find out.

Soft snoring from the upper bed. The Scout couldn’t make out his Pyro teammate’s form in the dark, but the sound of his steady breath through the gas mask confirmed that his bunkmate remained undisturbed.

Judging from the silence that filled the small living quarters within the quicklime factory, he briefly considered the fact, _at least it isn’t a surprise robot attack._ The digital display of the clock read half past three as he emerged into the hallway, telling him in no uncertain terms that he had been sleeping for a mere two hours.

The previous wave of attacks had lasted four hours, and another one would be on its way by six. The thought caused the Scout to groan inwardly. It had only been a month and he was already _so tired_ of robots. His leg still ached fiercely from a lost fight with a Heavybot earlier that evening, and if he didn’t get some sleep soon, he would almost definitely be a liability to both himself and his team the next day.

But the scent of smoke lingered in the hallway, and a more complicated sense of duty than what he owed his team began to take shape in his mind.

 _You’re goin’ all fuckin’ soft over this thing, ain’tcha_.

The response from his gut was a resounding _yes_ , even if his ego kept him glued to the spot for a few more seconds. The Scout sighed as he headed toward the facility’s exit, out to the small plaza where the team held the line by day. His hand remained impotently on the door for a moment before he pushed it open to step into the misty night.

So of course, he wasn’t wrong about finding the Spy smoking in solitude outside. He knew better than to expect a greeting at this point. Leaning against a railing, the tall man regarded him with the disinterest of a cat idling on a fence before returning his gaze to the muddied battlefield before them. Silence reigned between them and all throughout.

The younger man moved to stand beside him, though it was with a bit more apprehension than he’d wanted to let on. As his hands touched the railing before them, he leaned in, following the other man’s eyes to where an unmoving tank rested in the distance.

“Weird to see it so quiet, huh?” the Scout asked abruptly, relieved at the easiness in his own voice. It didn’t entirely match the feeling in his stomach. “Y’know—without the explosions and stuff.”

His father did not respond. Instead, he removed the cigarette from his lips and exhaled slowly. The details of his face were hard to make out in the dark of an overcast, moonless night, but the Scout could see the weariness of his expression.

“So did you just come out here to smoke, or is it—somethin’ else?” He coughed. “Not that you gotta tell me about it, but—”

He paused. It was still so _uncomfortable_ to talk to him about this kind of thing. He rested his head on his hands and laughed shortly.

“But I know you probably won’t. So I’ll just go back inside,” he finished, a little too close to dejected.

At long last, that earned him a glance over. It was kind of a look, though not a _look_ look. Not the kind that made him feel childish and small. A bit troubled, but with that careful veneer of indifference keeping any stronger emotion at bay.

“Both,” the older man finally answered, shrugging. “I came out here to smoke and think. It’s not an easy task with a gigantic Russian man roaring in his sleep.”

The Scout smiled at this, a sympathetic smile of someone who had also suffered the same fate recently. “Think about what, exactly?”

He thought it was a pretty sly transition, but the look he got in return said otherwise. It was one of _those_ looks. _Ugh_. And so he expected that meant no answers for him, until the Spy broke eye contact with an irritated sigh.

“I’ve grown tired of doing this,” he admitted quietly. It was disarming in its frankness, and the Scout raised an eyebrow outside of the other man’s view. “I am _not_ an impatient man. But I am not a young man anymore, either, and I would like to see an end in sight for my time here.”

 _Holy shit_. His breath had caught in his throat, and the Scout had to bite down on his lip to keep himself quiet. _He kinda opened up to me about somethin’! It’s a new record!_

His enthusiasm dulled, however, when his brain had time to process those words.

“You…don’t normally commit to somethin’ this long, do you?” the runner asked flatly.

“To an assignment? Not typically.” The Spy tipped some ash to the ground. “As for other matters…there are exceptions.”

The Scout was more than willing to admit that subtlety was almost always lost on him, but the tone of his father’s voice evoked an immediate mental image of his mother. His grip tightened on the railing.

“I’d promised someone, once, that I would be home someday. Not just for a few days, or an evening.” His voice had become distant again. “But there comes a point when an unfulfilled promise is just a more palatable lie. I’m not _quite_ vain enough to pretend like that isn’t so.”

The Scout coughed uncomfortably again. _Please don’t be sad. C’mon, please don’t do this to me._

“I thought we had this conversation,” he responded, more harshly than he had meant to. “Ma’s happy. I’m pretty happy. And you’re happy here, right?”

His father did not respond. His expression wasn’t really _sad_ —the Scout had seen sad before, and it was one hell of a difficult emotion to pull out of the man. But his silence betrayed conflict, at the very least, and that was just as hard to chase away when it came to the Spy.

“And y’can’t give up on me now that we finally get to do stuff together. With the robots and all,” he went on, smirking. “And—I couldn’t do my job out there half as good if you weren’t totally cleanin’ up my messes all the time, right? And—”

That moody glare remained the same, and the Scout felt his optimism deflating. “And…you really weren’t kiddin’ about wantin’ that vacation, huh.”

“It isn’t your fault, Scout,” his father stated, voice lacking the anticipated disgust. “I made my choices, and some regrets are merely a consequence of those choices. If I need to give them some thought on occasion, so be it. Eight consecutive robot waves yesterday certainly didn’t put me in a _pleasant_ mood.”

The Scout tilted his head a fraction, still thinking about it. “It ain't too late,” he insisted softly. “I keep tellin’ya that. Plus, I’m sure Miss Pauling would give you a vacation—uh. Once the robots are gone.”

A small smirk twitched onto the Spy’s face. “If the robots are ever gone. There is a new batch from the factory every day.”

His tone still wasn’t exactly the same smug jerkass that the Scout was familiar with—and, maybe, liked just a little bit. He frowned again.

“Okay. I’m sayin’ it straight out to you,” he started firmly. He leaned back from the railing, indignant. “Yeah, I get it, you owe Ma some time. But you owe me at least eighteen years. And so far we got—what? Four months?”

The Spy narrowed his eyes the slightest bit. It wasn’t quite angry as it was _assessing_.

“Maybe I’ll give you a break on a few of those years,” he added quickly, his tone quieter. “But you can do better than _four months_ , fuck’s sake.”

They both looked out over the battlefield for a few moments, neither speaking a word. The older man pitched his spent cigarette over the railing, his expression unreadable and _of course it was going to be like that_.

“I’m goin’ back to bed,” the Scout finished, eyes still fixed to the man that wouldn’t look at him. “And _you_ should too, y’know?”

He turned to go, but a strong grip seized his arm before he could do so. Startled, he met his father’s blue gaze as he spun to face him. The Spy was just a touch taller than him, but the sternness that had returned to his entire being gave the Scout a visceral sense of vulnerability in the face of this man who was—in the end—the most dangerous among all of them.

“I—uh. Can I help you?”

A smirk, and a rush of relief washed out that brief moment of instinctive fear. “You are bizarrely right about some things, even if I’m quite sure it’s dumb luck on your part.” A pause—and. “Thank you.”

The Scout blinked slowly, petrified. _He said thanks. He said I was right._

“I—”

Just as quickly as the runner had begun to speak, the Spy shook his head. “No. Stop talking before you’re _wrong_ again.”

So he said exactly nothing, instead opting to just grin a tiny bit stupidly.

“Go get some sleep,” his father sighed, finally releasing his grip. “And _please_ actually do so, because I am not covering for _all_ of your mistakes tomorrow. Understood?”

The Scout was still suppressing a knowing grin as he turned to go, holding eye contact just long enough to prove a point. He absolutely _had_ become soft toward this whole thing, but at least he could rest assured that the feeling was mutual.


End file.
